A red carnation sits in a tall thin vase on a white windowsill. Sunlight falls brightly on the red petals. This red is not the red of blood; it is the red of a simple single crinkled flower awash in gold light. The red of this flower, the gold of morning sunlight, and the dust motes that move and circle about in the stream of air there near the window are proof enough for me that this world is not just illusion. Sunlight falling on a flower before Valentine’s Day provides a day’s worth of clarity.